Hannah Gersen - Home Field

The party was in the faculty lounge. Ordinarily it was a drab place, a windowless room in the center of the building, but today it was cheery with bunches of yellow and orange balloons, streamers, and a large flower arrangement in the center of the table. There was a pile of gifts on a small desk near the door, so bright and colorful and obviously thoughtful that Dean couldn’t bring himself to add his card and bag of candy. Instead he stuck them in the pocket of his khaki pants, glancing to see if Laura was looking his way. She wasn’t; she hadn’t even seen him come in. She was talking with a group of young female teachers, women Dean knew only by the subjects they taught. For once she was wearing clothes that showed off her figure, an above-the-knee skirt and a sleeveless red silk blouse. Nicole never wore red; she said it made her skin seem too pink. Pink was the color of health; it was the color of Laura’s flushed cheeks. He looked away and let himself be drawn into a conversation with the vice principal, who always approached him at faculty events, usually because one of Dean’s players was on the verge of being suspended.

Dean almost left twice, but the second time he headed toward the door, Laura caught his eye and gave him a gaze that said wait . So he stood by the door until she came over and then — he didn’t know what made him say this, because it wasn’t true — he said he had to do some paperwork in his office and that he would be down there if she wanted to stop by when her party was over. And she said she couldn’t because there was a dinner after and then everyone was going to a bar and maybe he could meet her there. And he said no, he couldn’t, he had to get home. And it was uncomfortable, because there were people around them and it was the first time they’d spoken in weeks, and finally she said okay, she’d stop by his office. And then he left. And sat in his office. He had no urgent paperwork, but his grades were due in a few weeks, so he worked on those. Gym grades were based on participation more than performance, so it was just a matter of counting up days missed, but he could barely concentrate as he scanned his attendance records.

He kept thinking of those gold-embossed words, To My Wife . The blue card sat in his desk drawer, lightly poetic and sweet, and yet the words To My Wife felt heavy in his heart, sinking him instead of providing an anchor.

When Laura finally appeared in his doorway, she was carrying a piece of cake on a paper plate. It was a corner piece, with thick borders of icing, the kind of piece Bry liked best. She placed it on his desk, among his many championship plaques.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been in here,” she said. “It’s nice. Every teacher should have an office.”

“Maybe at your next job.”

“Maybe.” She gave him a bland, unreadable smile.

“Here, I forgot to give you this.” Dean handed her the card and the candy.

She opened the small package of Hershey’s Kisses and ate one right away. Dean couldn’t tell whether she was trying to do something rude or she just had a sweet tooth. Either way he liked the gesture; it showed passion.

She read the card, which pictured Snoopy and Woodstock embracing underneath the banner A Good Friend Is Hard to Find. Dean had labored over his short note, trying to convey his affection without going over the line. It said, To Laura, whose conversation I have greatly enjoyed and will miss. Best of luck in all your future endeavors. Yours Truly, Dean Renner.

“Kind of a mixed message,” she said, closing the card.

“Sorry, I’m no good at writing cards.”

She waited for him to meet her gaze again. “If you enjoy my conversation so much, why have you been ignoring me for the past month?”

“I didn’t mean to.” He got up to close his office door. His plan was to return to his desk and finish what would likely be a very painful conversation. But when he turned around, she was right there and just his height in her high heels. He kissed her without even thinking about it.

Her mouth tasted sweet, like the candy she’d just eaten, and her hair smelled like perfume and something else, something familiar — chalk, he realized. She was wearing pantyhose, which both aroused and frustrated him. He was dying to take them off, and after they’d kissed for several minutes, he began to move her toward his desk in order to do so. But she stopped him.

“I don’t want to do it this way.”

“Neither do I,” he said. At least not for their first time. But he could imagine a version of his life where he had sex with her in his office regularly. Where he had a private place to be with her and it wouldn’t affect anything else — a fantasy of love contained.

“I mean, I don’t want to do it at all,” she said. “Not this way. You’re married. It’s not the kind of person I am. And you’re not that kind of person, either.”

He stepped away, embarrassed and guilty, sickened by the thought of the cloying Mother’s Day card in his desk. To My Wife.

“You’re a good guy and I’m just. . I’m being reckless because I’m leaving.”

“Where are you going?”

“I don’t know.” She took a step back, away from him, and smoothed her skirt. “I have a tentative offer from Greenville. A teaching position. They won’t know until August, so I don’t have to decide now. I’m going on a road trip to California. My college roommate is coming with me. She just finished grad school. She doesn’t have any real job prospects, either.”

“That sounds great,” Dean said. What he wouldn’t give to take off and drive cross-country with her. He had never even seen the Pacific.

“Yeah, well. I need to get my head on straight. Tim and I broke up. Again.”

“He’s an idiot.” Tim was the last person Dean wanted to talk about right now.

“It was more like I broke up with him.”

“He’s still an idiot.”

“Maybe.” Laura gave her first genuine smile. “I should go.”

Dean watched her leave, resisting so many impulses — to run after her, to get her phone number, to sit with her in her car and say ridiculous things. But he stayed in his office, looking out the window that provided a view of the football field and the track. Some of the football players also lettered in track, and Dean remembered that he’d promised them he would attend the semifinal meet. He had future commitments. A job he loved. Family. He had to drop these fantasies of road-tripping with Laura. He was just feeling lonely. Everyone felt lonely from time to time.

On the drive home, he resolved to take the episode seriously, as a warning. And so, for the next month, he doted on his sad, exhausted wife and planned a family vacation to his father’s bucolic corner of Pennsylvania. If and when he thought of Laura, he shepherded her memory to the dark corners of his mind, with all the other things that were too dangerous to remember.

After several weeks of good behavior, Dean felt better, and it seemed to him that Nicole felt better, too. Stephanie’s graduation day was a triumph for the whole family, and a few days later, when they left for his father’s horse farm, Dean had an optimistic feeling about the summer ahead.

A week later, Nicole was dead.

After that, it wasn’t hard to stop thinking of Laura.

STEPHANIE LOOKED DOWN at Irene Baker’s wrinkled, ringed fingers as they grasped hers, bare and young. The old woman’s veins bulged, the blood clearly blue. Mrs. Baker was in her mideighties and was beloved for sending birthday cards to everyone in the congregation. Stephanie had always thought of her in a slightly condescending way, as a cute-granny type, but as she held Mrs. Baker’s well-worn hands, she wondered what tragedies had befallen her. Stephanie wondered this about everyone now.